Autumn Leaves
by mricj
Summary: It turned out Italy wasn't as warm as he last remembered.


**A/N: This is a sort of fix-it fic, where Duke Crocker and Jennifer Mason are happily married. Enjoy.**

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It turned out Italy wasn't as warm as he last remembered. Duke grew up in Coastal Maine and could swear to god he was used to the cold, especially when it came to harsh winters, but with the last few days of fall creeping up on them and winter just around the corner, the early few hours of the day would be pleasantly warm, but as soon as mid afternoon rolled around, the temperature would start dropping non-stop. In the end, he had never put a lot of thought into it, but, maybe, after spending so many years far away from Haven, Duke had never gotten used to Haven's weather again, not really anyways. In a matter of weeks, Duke was used to all of it once again—one cold breeze and that was enough for him to have goosebumps all over his skin.

As much as Duke and Jennifer loved spending their stays in foreign countries in fancy hotel rooms, maybe too fancy for them, even, there was nothing like staying on the Rouge. Sure, hotels were nice, and most of the times they were an excuse to have a break from spending so much time travelling by boat from country to country, but still, the Rouge was _home_ , and they wouldn't have it any other way. It was right where the two of them were supposed to be. After being all over the country and acting like the tourists they were, they decided that Sicily was the perfect place to extend their vacation in two, maybe three, weeks; and spending their time on an island made docking _that_ much easier. Staying on the Rouge meant that, somehow, they managed to be even closer to each other, meant being even more comfortable with their surroundings and doing whatever they felt like doing simply because they _could_. Besides, they enjoyed not having to leave Little John, Jennifer's beloved dog, with some of Duke's _reliable_ friends. More often than not, Duke'd wonder how they could spend so much time together and never get sick of each other.

The two of them found themselves curled up against each other on the too cramped couch, watching some movie neither of them really cared about—she was thankful Duke had a dusty pile of movies somewhere around the Rouge, or otherwise she'd be bored off her mind; days without any sort of internet connection, and Netflix was quickly out of the equation. Jennifer was wearing one of his shirts, the way she always did whenever they were having one of those lazy days where neither of them really cared about doing anything but being in each other's arm. By the looks of it, it was a wonderful day outside, and part of Duke almost regretted not even trying to convince his wife to do _something_ , whatever it was. But then again, he hadn't felt like moving either.

It hardly was near dinner time by the time Duke heard Jennifer's voice mumbling against his chest, "What's for dinner, Sailor?"

"I'm not so sure," Duke said slowly and quietly between the small, breathy sounds he was making as Jennifer ran her fingers through his hair, his eyes closed. He had been thinking a lot about the seafood restaurant they passed on their way to one of the local markets lately, but he didn't want to take her there _now_. When he did take Jennifer there, he wanted it to be special, something he had planned and talked to her about days in advance—not something the two of them had came up with in the last minute, "You name it, and I cook it."

"I really want a cheeseburger—oh, and fries! Those are good too," For a moment, it really looked like Jennifer was weighting all her options and thinking about all the possibilities—because when Duke said he was going to cook her whatever she wanted, he meant it; in the end, her request had been simpler than he'd have thought. After living with Duke for a while, before they were married, even, Jennifer came to the conclusion that living with him meant having him in the palms of her hands and that went for literally _anything_ , and it _had_ been a long while since the two of them had eaten anything that wasn't from some restaurant, or something Duke himself hadn't cooked. Sometimes, she missed the small, simple and old things that life had to offer.

"Are you _sure_?" He asked, putting and extra emphasis on the sure bit and all—more emphasis than necessary, in Jennifer's opinion—, because they were in _Italy_ , a place they didn't go very often, a place they wouldn't be seeing in _years_ after they got out of there, probably, and they could be outside, eating anywhere and anything they wanted, but Jennifer still choose fast food. But who was he to go against his wife's wishes anyways?

"Yeah," Jennifer had been to Italy before—Rome, to be more exact—; once when she was seven and her parents decided that a trip around Europe was an interesting idea, and another a few months after she got her job on the Globe and was in charge of writing an article about Italy's economy. She remembered having a good time and loving every single thing about those trips, but the food wasn't what had impressed her. But what could Jennifer say? It wasn't like she was as picky as Duke when it came to whatever she was eating.

"Alright, honey," Duke mumbled as he sat up and brought Jennifer along with him, his hands on the small of her back to keep her as close as possible; on his lap, chest pressed against his and face hidden in the crook of his neck. He squinted, mentally calculating something before speaking again, "See you in… half an hour?"

She pulled away from Duke, looking him in the eyes for the first time in what it felt like hours, when, actually, it only had been a few minutes. A sheepishly beam resting on her lips, Jennifer cupped his neck and caressed his cheeks with both her thumbs, pulling Duke closer into a gentle and affectionate kiss, her lips soft as he tasted her. Jennifer was there and she was real; she was real, happy and _safe._ In those moments, it was almost easy to forget the fear of losing her, the fear of waking up in the morning and Jennifer just… not being there, and more often than not, he'd ask himself why it was so hard to accept that, maybe, the universe got tired of fucking with him—with them—, and couldn't he just accept that something good was, indeed, happening to him for once?

She pulled away from the kiss, her hands now running through his way too short hair—too short for her, anyways—, "Have I ever told you you're the best husband I've ever had?"

"You've never been married before," It sounded more like question than an affirmation, and Duke could see her eyes lighting up and her smile becoming broader.

"I _know_ ," Jennifer replied in a high-pitched tone and Duke fought to the urge to roll his eyes at her. Instead, he gave the tip of her nose a peck and then got up to get dressed.


End file.
